


Free fall from outer space

by milqkbread



Category: Haikyuu!!, ハイパープロジェクション演劇「ハイキュー!!」| Hyper Projection Play "Haikyuu!!" RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Aobajousai, Fluff and Angst, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru Angst, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru Fluff, Jealous Oikawa Tooru, M/M, Mentioned Iwaizumi Hajime, Oblivious, Oblivious Iwaizumi Hajime, Oikawa Tooru's Knee Injury, POV Male Character, POV Oikawa Tooru, POV Outsider, POV Third Person, Pining, Pining Oikawa Tooru, Pro Volleyball Player Oikawa Tooru, Sad Oikawa Tooru, Teen Angst, Volleyball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29220702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milqkbread/pseuds/milqkbread
Summary: His head has been flooded with space terms, meaningless metaphors and drowned feelings.It hurts, but he hides it. And his friend never notices, except at times like that, when Oikawa remains silent, merely answering his questions or just getting lost in his green moons.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Kudos: 21





	Free fall from outer space

**Author's Note:**

> English isn´t my first language so i hope it is good! :)

_Stars that cover a darkened sky, joining, looking for the pattern they call constellation. Planets rotating, moons following them, meteorites colliding._

The brunette's eyes have been lost in a dull green that, ignorant, speaks with the teammates who haven't left the locker room yet. He doesn't know how long he hasn't intervened in the conversation, but he has had to draw the attention of his friend, who places one of his big hands on his shoulder with a concerned expression.

"Tooru, you okay?"

He talks in a soft tone, melting the fast-paced heart that beats inside his chest. Oikawa nods, hiding in the pride and carefreeness that so irritates the other. There is no one in the place, everyone has left, and without the need for words Iwaizumi declares to be waiting for him.

Reality is different: Oikawa is not okay, but not bad either. His head has been flooded with _space terms,_ meaningless metaphors and drowned feelings. His feet reach his friend's and his sight travels from his hands, wide and strong, to his face, of swarthy skin. He knows that his imagination makes him suffer more than necessary, but he is unable to avoid thinking about his intertwined fingers or his lips touching in an innocent first kiss, the one he would have liked to give to Iwaizumi.

The shorter one lets his shoulder bump the brunette's, repeating the question made in the locker room, now in more solitude. The answer is the same despite being aware that for his friend, Oikawa is an open book eager for readers or, feeding his obsession _ , a satellite waiting for scientists to investigate his properties _ . And he hates it, with all his might, for the secrets cease to be so the moment that Iwaizumi's voice recreates that question, revealing a part of him to which Oikawa will never get used to: a kind, calm and concerned side, able to give everything for the one who walks his way, because he loves him, but not as the brunette does, not in the same way.

Oikawa knows, he repeats it to himself every day, when they hug or he kisses his knee after the extra workouts he forces himself to do. He understands it, for he has been a witness of his internal debates because of confused feelings, aimed at students who will have what he desires. However, it hurts, since he could never be the reason why Iwaizumi would smile at the phone after the sound of a new message, he could never be the person that makes his heart confused or the protagonist of his fantasies at midnight.

  
It hurts, but he hides it. And his friend never notices, except at times like that, when Oikawa remains silent, merely answering his questions or just getting lost in his  _ green moons. _

They walk together until Hajime stops, reminding his, as he likes to call him, stupid friend, that if he keeps walking his house won't follow him. The brunette laughs, apologising with the excuse of tiredness, the one he has already heard coming out of his lips multiple times. Iwaizumi does not answer, aware that if he questions once again, Oikawa will close more his doors, preventing him from accessing  _ the core of his satellite .  _ He turns his back, and his feet move towards his home. Tooru screams, saying goodbye to him, and Iwaizumi responds with a simple "Fuck off".

"Idiot..."

The whisper is lost alongside the silhouette of his friend, the ace of Aoba Joshai. Oikawa erases the smile from his face, revealing the false of that expression as his body crosses the front door and from his lips escapes the warning that he is already home, safe. His feet guide him to his room, leaving the school backpack in a corner on the floor and laying down on the bed. His eyes meet  _ the stars _ that decorate his roof, but the only one that crosses his mind like a  _ celestial comet _ is that boy five centimetres below him and a month above. And once again, concepts related to  _ outer space _ are present, preventing him from having a few simple seconds of peace.

He wonders when he'll get over Iwaizumi. When his thoughts will stop talking about his best friend and when he, _as a satellite, will stop orbiting around his Sun_. However, there is no answer to questions like that. It may be a couple of months from concluding that it was a whim, it may last longer than it should, or maybe Hajime will break Tooru's heart, directly or indirectly. He sighs, aware of how broken he already is. 

The brown of his eyes disappears behind the skin of his eyelids, wrapping him in the dark. If he sleeps he knows that Iwaizumi will disappear from his mind, but also that he will transport himself to his dreams, where he dares to kiss him, caress him and express his feelings sincerely, something that in real life they both know that Oikawa will never do. Even if he begged on his knees, the setter would not confess his feelings, even at _the warning of the arrival of a dangerous meteorite that threatens to collide with Miyagi's territory._ He would remain silent.

Rather die than losing Iwa-chan, a recurrent thought in the messy brain that his skull guards, because he doesn't know what he would do if that dark-haired, swarthy-skinned, explosive-minded boy splits from his side. In short, Oikawa prefers not to overthink things. 

Tired, feeling the weight of training on him at any moment, he lays on his side, opening his eyes. In front of them has appeared his bedside table, and on it several of his belongings: the lamp, the blue case of his glasses, the perfume his mother loves so much, the keychain that Iwaizumi decided to buy him as comfort after his first injury. He extends his arm to grab it, caressing the material as if his fingers were sliding down the cheeks of who would always be his best friend and nothing else. 

The keychain returns to its place, just as the setter's body looks back at the ceiling. _The stars don't shine_ , they stay on that neutral, opaque, dead white. For a few seconds, Oikawa feels the urge to leave his sheets in order to wrap the room in the darkness he has witnessed when he closed his eyes, giving those _lost stars_ a chance _in a non-existent sky to light up_. But his body doesn't react, everything hurts too much: his arms, the fingertips of his fingers, his feet, his right knee, his heart. 

The phone buzzes on his side, reproducing the sound that, like so many other things, Iwaizumi claims to hate. Yet, the notifications do not belong to any classmate, neither to all those countless fanatics who after each match surround Oikawa, making him feel like a celebrity; no, the messages belong to a young boy unable to pass 5'11, and apparently so impatient that it has taken him less than half an hour to make contact. From the screen, decorated by one of so many photos of those two eternal friends, the words of concern are reproduced on Oikawa's head as if he were whispering them, caressing each of the locks that insist on falling on his forehead. Questions about his mood, his sleep schedule, his over exertion and his injury. None in which the reason for the strange attitude Oikawa had dragged throughout the school hours, including training, was Iwaizumi Hajime. 

Sigh. He knows he'll never suspect that he may be the cause why Tooru thinks about buying a _moon_ and pasting it into his custom _constellation,_ wishing he could give it the shine it lacks. He knows he will never suspect that he may be the cause why Tooru sacrifices his nights, torturing himself by imagining infinite scenarios whose probability of happening drops to negative numbers. And he knows that Iwaizumi, as much as he may suspect that Tooru no longer has possession of his own heart, will never consider himself an option. Due to this, he asks, hoping to receive a sincere answer which will never come, not as long as _the supernovae continue to explode in the universe_ inside his chest. And even if he tries to pacify them, _the explosions are chained until they consume the emptiness in space,_ abandoning tears and turning them into the last remains, remains that in turn decide to set out on his cheeks. 

Fingers that should erase all evidence about his now reddish skin save the phone from drowning in the celestial sheets, placing it in front of the dark eyes of a tired, physically and emotionally, setter. Doubtful, the fingertips battered by the use of the volley ball glide through the glass, entering the conversation that Iwaizumi has decided to start. His friend appears offline, and in the silence of his crying Oikawa sits on the bed on which more than once they have seen their favorite films.

He writes. Tooru writes that he isn't fine, that _his_ _planet has begun to break and the sun that illuminates his system is shutting down_. That everything hurts, from head to toe, concentrating on that useless knee that will one day end his career. Tooru writes that _the stars of his artificial sky no longer shine_ , and they cry in the absence of a _moon_ , but that he has managed to find in what appeared to be a _constellation_ _a_ _new Sun_ _whose light only increases._

Fingers collide against the screen more than a hundred times, setting letters together, looking for words that form sentences capable of expressing what their vocal cords constantly deny. Nascent feelings lost in the _empty black color of a cosmos that only grows and grows_ , just as his mind so tries to ignore, facing the desperate sobbing of a heart that doesn't know how to love. And his fingers continue colliding, writing down everything he ever dreamt of saying under a cherry blossom, ignoring the possible consequences.

"Because I know you're going to reject me, Iwa, but I can't do it anymore." 

  
Everything has escaped from his hands. Everything. Oikawa has lost control from his increasingly serious injury to his emotions. _The spacecraft has deviated and threatens to collapse, causing an insignificant explosion into the infinite of the universe._

Iwaizumi is still offline, and Tooru's heartbeat is irregular. The phone trembles in his hands as the tears on his face mark unequivocal characters, shattering the structure of what is clearly a confession. A love confession, those that Oikawa has so often claimed to hate despite keeping in a box on his desk all the letters that so many girls decide to write to him on Valentine's Day. 

Because yes, Oikawa is writing his confession, showing his feelings sincerely to whom never lost a detail, to that person he could easily call his soulmate, _that Sun over which he, as a planet, rotates again and again until the end of his days._ And once again, those _space terms_ that Iwaizumi so detests are embodied in the paragraphs that Oikawa separates with dots and apart. 

Tooru writes; he writes tirelessly, biting his bottom lip in order to suffocate the sobs. And as he writes, he asks himself when was the last time he managed to be so sincere, with Hajime and himself, discovering that it has been so long that the smile he carries with him is no longer difficult to fake. 

"You're the only one who knows the real me, Iwa."

The hooks of the heavy red fabrics break and fall to the ground, discovering a half-assembled stage. _The sun has set and the night comes, revealing the sad stars._ Iwaizumi destroys his work, _discovers_ _his stars_ , observes the Oikawa without deceptive grimaces, and stays. He stays on that _unexplored planet_ , capable of fragmenting with any wrong step.

"Hajime, I'm in love with you."

Silence. His fingertips distance the crystal by a few centimeters. There's no collision. The sound is extinguished. The dark eyes, decorated by the red of his skin, travel again and again through unthoughtful letters, objects of relief. 

Finally, all those sincere words are deleted thanks to a simple rubbing of skin on the back key, being replaced by a carefree message that Iwaizumi reads at the moment, coinciding with the escape of  _ a star-admiring astronaut _ .

The mobile phone sinks into the celestial sheets, muted, just like Oikawa, whose body rests looking at the ceiling once more.

"No."

Oikawa closes his eyes, stopping his tears. 

Saying it would be like pouncing on the abyss, the one whose end no one can tell, so he won't say it. In return, he will let the fear cover him, ensuring that he still has  _ oxygen to breathe. _

_ The ship's alarms resonate in his head _ , but he ignores them, granting him the privilege of keeping Iwaizumi by his side, at least for a while longer, before, as an end, jumping and starting a fall _. A free fall from outer space.  _


End file.
